Annie walked out of her bedroom and into the family living room twenty minutes past the agreed-upon interview time. Although she was late and sleep shined heavily throughout her features, she had her head held high. As she walked toward the kitchen, she mumbled apologetically “Sorry, I thought my alarm was part of a dream.” Messy brown hair tousled from sleep sat just above her shoulders. Throughout the years, her hair had been sprinkled with flecks of gray. If anyone asked her about the gray that peeked through, she would take a serious tone and criticize the asker for pointing out the sign of aging. Most of the time, she was never actually serious but enjoyed the slight look of panic that flashed through the asker's eyes. “It is a blessing to be able to have gray hair. It means I have the privilege of living life and growing old,” she would say.

On this day, her hair was sticking out in all of the wrong places and she made no effort to tuck the stray pieces in. She found her place at the kitchen counter and looked up with chocolate brown eyes and a gaze as soft as fur. Although her eyes hold a world of softness, she always seems to have a slight mischievous gleam to her; almost like she somehow knows more than she’d ever been willing to let on and the softness is a perfect cover. A caffeine addict of sorts, Annie never feels fully awake until she has her morning cup of coffee. It’s almost as if coffee is the lubricant needed to aid in the smooth churning of the gears in her head. She turned from her place at the kitchen counter and found the coffee pot across the way. As the coffee pot began to heat up and brew its contents, Annie swayed her petite frame back to her original spot at the kitchen counter and tucked her arms in so they were resting on the granite countertop.

Standing in at 5’5, she had still held a giant presence. She pulled her hair into a bun on top of her head and rested her arms back down on the counter. Annie has a way of speaking with her eyes. Before any words leave her mouth, it’s as if you can see her answer without the need for words. When asked about the importance of her name, a deep look of pride fills her eyes and a slight look of sadness also appears. She is one to never stray from bold eye contact but this particular question made her glace away for the briefest of moments. When her gaze returned forward, she answered, “Well, Nana [her mother] decided to name me Annie because she didn’t speak English very well. She was given a name book and Annie was one of the first names in the book. She wanted me to have an easy name to pronounce. Annie was the first and best option in her opinion.” As she answered, she untucked her arms from the countertop and began to crack her knuckles. She bent her head to each shoulder to wring out the sleep from the night before with an audible crack. She continued, “even though she’s not here anymore, Nana, I will always love my name and the fact that I carry it with me in all things I do.”

She turned her back to return to the coffee pot that sputtered out the last of its contents. She opened a cabinet above the coffee pot and reached for a mug. Everything about the movements she made seemed methodical; like it was second nature. Annie and her morning cup of coffee. She had a particular taste for dark roast coffee that oftentimes received a declined answer when offered to others. When she was done pouring her coffee into a mug, she moved to sit on a barstool at the kitchen counter. Annie has a naturally warm nature about her; both physical and emotional. It is almost as if she is her own personal heater. A hot commodity on any cold day. She swiveled around on the barstool and took her first sip of coffee. Annie’s aroma can be described much like coffee; rich, lightly caramelized, and slightly nutty. Another anchor to her routine that soothed and gave a sense of normality and predictability.

When asked about similarities between her and her daughter as children, she set her mug down on the counter and looked towards the opposite end of the room. She began to fidget with the end of her shirt and tucked her feet together behind the back of the stool. “Hmm, maybe too many to count,” she answered. Annie sat on the stool in an almost child-like state. Swiveling the bottom back and forth while her body remained in one position. Her gaze was still focused across the room when she was asked if she would still be friends with her daughter if she was not her mother. She stopped swiveling in her chair and focused her gaze on the center of the room. “without a doubt in my mind. I’d find her in any lifetime... but hopefully there’s one where she doesn't make fun of my coffee or ask me questions about my gray hair.” For her warm and sarcastic disposition, it was a fitting answer.

                                                                  
LILLY E. REEVES is a junior pursuing a degree in English. Lilly passionately seeks authenticity in her lived experiences from travel to cats, cooking to reading, long conversations to simply “being.”